Sudden Turn of Events
by MrsRoy
Summary: He told her once - that he was not Chuck Bass without her. She realizes now that she is not Blair Waldorf without him, not when she still carries that little part of Chuck Bass with her. If she can admit that to herself, then why can't she be honest with the man that she loves? (S5 AU Chair fic.)
1. Precious things cannot be taken

**Long time Chair shipper, this is my first story for them. This is my take on the S5 storyline. **

**Please read and review. I hope you will appreciate what I am trying to portray.**

**I don't own the characters. **

* * *

The envelope in her hand is crisp, stark and white. It bears her name, like she bears the child within her womb. The coffin of a document, her fingers shake and she inhales a long, slow, ragged breath. It does not help that Dan Humphrey stands at her right hand side. There was only ever one, who could take up that mantle - in the acquire-or-be-acquired mayhem of their love eternal, he was the sunshine that brightened her heart. And he was not Dan Humphrey.

Still, she can smell the aroma of double shot espresso over her shoulder, mocking her, wafting home the message of despair.

Blair closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Does it really matter? Would it really make a scratch of difference? Paternity is merely a matter of opinion.

His throat clears behind her and she tries to block out his words. She still cannot believe that it has come to this, Humdrum Humphrey – her confidant.

"You know," he says, because in all things that involve social pressure, there has to be one who will force her hand, "When I first started out on my path as a writer, I was told that it's just paper. Words can always be erased."

Blair does not blink, she does not smile. She fingers the edge of the stock standard stationary. It seems so clinical, so impersonal. Surely her child deserves better, if Chuck had any say in it … But he doesn't, and he can't. This is her fairytale - this is her magic, and she will not be accused of standing idly by with rose colored glasses as she wraps herself up in the clutches of imagination.

Louis is good for her, of noble heart, a wise, exceptional conqueror. His achievements surpass those of ordinary men.

In the depths of her mind she reminds herself that there is nothing ordinary about Chuck Bass.

"You're right, Humphrey. I have to do this. I need to be rational, in control."

"I mean," he hesitates for a moment, "I could do it for you. If you want."

She does not respond. She swallows thickly, stands tall and proud and maneuvers one flawlessly manicured nail beneath the fold of the sealed envelope. The card-stock tears and Blair cringes. She grits her teeth, sets her jaw and follows the line like an origami crease.

The words are bold, the black, a vivid contrast upon white, but they are there. There is no denying them.

_**Bass, Charles.**_

Her stomach turns, she feigns morning sickness and folds the page over, and half again. She pleads, _pleads_ with Dan to take her home – back to Brooklyn. He nods, and agrees. But before he can move, he has to know.

"It's Louis, right? That's why you're acting this way. Look, Blair, I know how much you care about Chuck, but this is a good thing."

She turns to face him, her face a mask, neither here nor there. She blinks; her eyes sting and her hands shake as she shoves the test results back into her purse.

"What? Oh, right. Of course. I am going to marry the father of my child."

Her smile is weak, her cheeks are flushed and the corners of her lips barely lift to convey the sentiment. Dan takes the liberty, places his arm around her shoulder and walks her to the curb to wait for the town car.

He is silent when he opens the door and ushers in, mumbles only to give the address of his humble Brooklyn abode and tries not to smile when she pushes a lock of stray hair back behind her ear. His gaze lingers, and he chastises himself. His affection is the last thing she needs.

Blair does not notice. She throws up her hands. "Wait. Stop. We have to go to the Empire," she tells the driver.

"What? I mean … Okay, if you want." Dan sucks in a breath waits patiently for her explanation.

"I have to tell Chuck, tonight," she says.

He does not push her. He simply shrugs. "To the Empire Hotel, I guess."

* * *

She watches him swill the scotch in his glass, watches as he lifts the cut crystal to his lips and swallows, and she can imagine that even after all this time, the amber liquid still burns his gullet like it had the first time he raided his father's liquor cabinet.

Monkey senses her before he does, the scruffy canine whimpers at her feet and Chuck turns his head in time to see Blair scratch his dog behind the ears.

"Blair," he drawls, no longer interested in her games. "Meet my dog, Monkey."

"I … I saw Gossip Girl," she replies, and she is sure that she is stammering. "I thought you got rid of him?"

Chuck shifts his weight on the stool and tips the neck of his bottle down to refill his glass.

"I just had him fixed. I thought it was the responsible thing to do …"

"I'm pregnant," she tells him, cutting him off like she is speaking out of turn.

Chuck's index finger halts its course around the circumference of his glass and he pushes back from the table. His strides are long and he stands before he before she can exhale the next sentence.

"Blair … This is … A new beginning. For both of us."

She shakes her head and takes a step back. Chuck frowns. "You still don't get it. Do you? You broke me, Chuck, Jenny Humphrey, of all the people."

His eyes plead with her and he holds out his hand. This could be it for them; this could be the rest of their lives together. He searches her expression, notices her hands balled into fists by her side. He knew that falling in love was not going to be easy – anger, tears, frustration. He still wants her, despite it all.

"Louis fixed me. He put the pieces back together after you shattered my heart."

Her nails dig into the palms of her hands, but she swallows the pain, it is real, tangible, it reminds her that their child exists.

"The baby is Louis's."

She knows that she has made a mistake as soon as the lie slips from her tongue.

"Blair …"

"I wanted you to be the first to know."

And just like that, her life begins a spiral of descent. _Liar._ Her conscience screams. She rationalizes her fears with the knowledge that Cyrus is her father, if not by blood. That Chuck need never know.

She finds her calm and continues.

"If I know anything about Chuck Bass, it's that fatherhood is not part of the lifestyle."

His child, the possibility had existed for less than one tenth of a second. And the joy that he'd felt, the indescribable feelings of wonder and merriment that had touched his being, now bound, like a splinter working its way into his heart.

He resurrects his defenses, builds himself a whole suit of armor so that nobody can hurt him, and quashes the pain.

"You must have been relieved when you realized you weren't carrying my offspring."

His words are meant to scar. Louis will never be able to fill the hole in her heart, the gaping mar that is Chuck Bass.

She swipes at her eyes and watches him retreat to the comfort of the bottle.

"There is a part of me that really wanted it to be yours."

He considers his glass carefully, taking a moment to look into his crystal ball as if the truth might become obvious. Pushing back the tears, he exhales through his nose, his nostrils whistle with the agony of his despair and he hangs his head.

"I think you should leave. Just go, Blair."

For the first time today, she agrees with something. "I should go. Humphrey is waiting downstairs for me."

Her footsteps retreat, but he does not hear them. He cannot hear her cries, or the whispers. Frankly, he does not care what Gossip Girl will have to say. He tips his glass and tilts his head, downs his swallow, but the aftertaste is bitter.

He seems to forget his own strength as he hurls the glass across the room. It spirals towards the far wall of the kitchenette, colliding with the rich timber paneling. Fragments litter the floor, the tumbler lays destroyed, but still, Chuck does not blink.

Once, when he had nothing, he had Blair. Now that he has nothing, he aches of loneliness.

"Take care of yourself," He tells the breeze.


	2. The truth is beautiful, so are lies

**Thank you all for the feedback. I really appreciate the comments.**

**As I mentioned, ultimately, this will be a Chair fic, just with a few little angsty twists and turns. Fear not. I love Chair too much to destroy them.**

**Please, feel free to leave a review. Enjoy chapter 2.**

**I don't own the characters.**

* * *

She stops in the lobby, her back against the wall. Sheer, silken drapes frame the opulent foyer like gilded honeysuckles, like heat from a hazy sunrise. They're stunning against the backdrop of an ebony night.

She hates to admit it, but Chuck has really grown up.

Blair counts to ten and straightens her hem before she presents herself to Humphrey. She grips her bag, her knuckles pale from the force of her actions.

Her throat is dry, and she is tempted to take up a seat and start herself a tab. If only the father of her child didn't have eyes in the back of his head. Chances are he'd wipe her slate with the simple flick of a wrist. When she recognizes Humphrey with a shot glass in the palm of his hot little hand, she decides to throw her caution to the wind.

"I'll have what he's having," She tells the barkeep, her head inclined in Dan's direction.

He slams the glass onto the polished marble surface and furrows his brow at her, unsure of what to say in this particular instance.

"Blair, you shouldn't, it's not good for the …" He trails off and points at her midsection. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be. Figured I'd have time for one."

Blair rolls her eyes and ambles in beside him. She smooths the crinkled fabric over her thighs and throws back the tequila that is burning a hole in the bar top before her. She closes her eyes, scrunches her nose and smiles, licking her lips.

"Another," she proclaims.

"Blair, I really don't think that's a good idea."

She holds up a finger and murmurs to the gentleman holding the bottle, poised and waiting. "One second."

"Please, Humphrey. Enlighten me. With all your infinite wisdom, why would this be such a bad idea?"

He opens his mouth to relent, then closes it again. He eyes her cautiously but remains silent. The answer is blatantly obvious.

"Oh, you mean the baby? The fact that I'm pregnant? Is that what you're trying to say? That it's bad for me to indulge in a little liquid courage? Alcohol seems to be the answer to all of Chuck's problems. We should follow his example."

"Don't refill her glass," Dan implores the barkeep. "She'll regret it."

Blair stamps her foot, the chunky heel of her custom Alexandre Birman pump clashing with the cold slate tiles beneath her feet. "If you have a problem, you can leave, Boy Wonder. In fact, I think that is a great idea. Why don't you leave?"

A throat clears behind them. She does not have to look to know who it is.

"When I was advised of the commotion in the front lobby bar of my hotel, this is not what I had in mind."

Her back stiffens, the shot glass slips from her grasp and Blair turns to see Chuck standing behind her, looking down at her, judging her.

"Clean it up, Bruno." Chuck instructs his employee. He makes no song and dance about the show; he maintains his facade and grips Blair by the forearm.

"Great. This is just great. What do you want, Bass?"

A familiar scenario replays like a frame-by-frame in his mind - His hand, stroking her midsection, his heart in his throat, some alluring sense of hope controlling his baser emotions.

"_Don't stop on my account."_

"_Oh, I have to. Second hand smoke is bad for the, ah …"_

"_I'm not pregnant."_

"You're pregnant, Blair. You shouldn't be drinking. You're making a scene, in my front lobby bar."

She scoffs, throws her head back and guffaws, undignified.

"Blair, listen to me …"

She wrenches her arm away, he elbow bent back, nudging him as she raises her voice. "No. You listen to me, Chuck Bass. Unhand me you brute. This is not your baby; it's none of your business. I'm sure Louis would not approve of you manhandling his pregnant fiancée."

Chuck raises his hands, palms up, like a white flag of surrender and retreat. Dan approaches the pair, placing his hand on Blair's arm, offering silent support. Over her shoulder, out of her line of sight, he nods his head. Chuck reciprocates.

"Get her out of here, Brooklyn. Take her home."

She stumbles back into Dan, losing her balance. Chuck holds his breath, but Brooklyn surprises him with quick reflexes and the three of them release the breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

Chuck watches her leave on the arm of Dan Humphrey. Walking away again.

"Mister Bass …"

Chuck looks up at his barkeep, the thin paper slip marked _unpaid_ in his hand.

"Disregard it."

The tall, well groomed, immaculately styled man in uniform scrunches the bill into a ball and disposes of the evidence that she was here.

Chuck knows that he can't run. He can't hide. Not when she is emblazoned into the space on the back of his eyelids. When he closes his eyes, she is all that he can see. He curses. He will see her in his dreams this very eve.

His cell phone vibrates in the pocket of his suit trousers. He retrieves the device, his thumb poised over the message icon. He knows that he is nothing without Blair, but the thought that she might come to harm because of his screwed up agenda weighs heavily on his mind.

Of course. Gossip Girl. Right on time.

_- Once a Queen, now a princess, it seems like our very own Blair Waldorf has finally is about to experience her own real life fairytale. Expecting a royal heir, no less. We wonder how Little Boy Bass feels about this, now that he's been left to blow his own horn._

* * *

The announcements go out the very next day.

_His Serene Highness Prince Louis of Monaco and fiancée Miss Blair Waldorf of Manhattan, New York are proud to confirm that they are expecting. Although they have been playing coy with the media, the prince and his betrothed have expressed their excitement about the impending birth of their first child._

Rufus Humphrey folds his morning paper in half and removes his glasses from the bridge of his nose as he leans back in his dining chair and regards his son over the kitchen table.

"So Blair is pregnant. And you knew about this all along."

Dan shrugs and sips his coffee while trying to think of the best way to explain the predicament. "It's complicated. It always is with Blair."

"That still doesn't explain why she is currently showering in our bathroom when her fiancé is on the other side of town, wondering where the hell she is."

Dan picks his bagel apart and sighs, sitting up on his elbows, locks of loose hair falling across his face, obstructing his view.

"She just needed some space. She told Louis last night, it was overwhelming for her."

Dan pushes his chair back and stands up. He can't afford to be late today. "Look, Dad. I know you have had issues with Blair in the past, but all I'm asking if for you to be polite."

There had been times when the father had wondered whether being a single parent would ever pay off. He watches his son sling his messenger bag over his shoulder and adjust his coat collar. He knows that Blair had suffered in the aftermath of Jenny's rendezvous with Chuck Bass. He's not the type to hold a grudge.

"She'll be fine. I promise."

The heavy door closes and Rufus shakes his head. Right now, the plaid hoodie and dirty socks thrown over the back of the sofa are the least of his worries. He rises to rinse his coffee mug out and places it on the drying rack over the sink.

"Kids," he mumbles as he begins the task of sorting through pile of junk amounting on his plush three man sofa. A dog-eared piece of paper sticks out from underneath one of the elaborate cushions. It looks like somebody has opened and folded the note several hundred times. He muses to himself about the fact that Dan has yet again misplaced his notes, and unfolds the tattered note.

His eyes scan the fine print as he absorbs the material. He backs up to the sofa sits so that he can re-read the section that he has just perused.

Blair's quiet footsteps don't announce her arrival. It's not until her hip brushes the arm of the sofa that Rufus turns his head to greet the new arrival.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was hoping to catch Dan before he left. I guess I'm too late."

His reaction surprises Blair. She certainly had not been expecting it.

"You know, Blair …" He pauses for effect. "When I found out about the fact that Lily gave our son up, I was so angry. I really thought that she loved me. It was inconceivable, that she would lie to me. Years and years of my son's life wasted. If she had told me back then, if she had been honest, I might have a relationship with my son. A real relationship. The kind that I have with Dan."

Rufus holds up the letter. Those two bold words, brighter than a neon sign.

Her arms and legs become heavy, like they're weighted down with guilt. Her head feels light and suddenly, she wants to empty her stomach, purging the contents.

He stands to assist her, guiding her to the sofa to sit before he crouches down in front of her.

"I think you might need somebody to talk to. What do you say, Blair?"

* * *

Blair sits with a cool lemonade, pausing sporadically to sip from the yellow pinstriped paper straw. Her eyes are veiled and she peers out from beneath hooded lashes. She is determined not to speak.

Rufus knows a challenge when he sees one.

"So Chuck is the father of your baby, and you don't think it's a good idea to tell him?"

She pinches the straw between her thumb and forefinger and draws the tall glass closer. The clock on the wall ticks over meticulously, reminding her of her lunch date with Louis.

"I know this must be awkward for you. Well, with me being Jenny's father and all."

Blair raises a neatly shaped brow. At least that is something.

"Blair, I'm just trying to help you. I won't say anything. You can trust me. I can't say that I approve of Chuck Bass …"

"Stop," Blair whispers as she pushes the drink across the coffee table. "Please, just stop. Okay? Yes. Chuck is the father of my child. Yes, I love him. But it can't happen. For obvious reasons."

"So you're going to punish him for one mistake?" He knows that he is traipsing dangerous territory and reminds himself to keep his emotions in check.

Blair decides that the truth is her best defense. She crosses her feet at the ankles and turns to face Dan Humphrey's father. "I can't trust him. Chuck is not dependable. He's has a hard time committing to anything outside his sphere of self pleasure. He has terrible issues with his mother and father. It's a no win situation. Louis can take care of me. Of us," she adds, firm in her conviction.

Rufus sits forward, leaning his elbows on his knees and nudges his reading glasses, pushing them up to his hairline. The thick prescription frames sit perched on the top of his head as he takes a moment to process the information Blair has just offered.

Blair checks the clock again, notes that the big hand has moved but a fraction, and carefully examines her French manicure.

Rufus thinks about his son, given up for adoption years ago. That despite his all consuming love for Lily, he was terrified to trust her again. Issues with Chuck Bass aside, he can't see any good coming from this web of deceit.

He sighs audibly. Blair echoes the sentiment. And for all it's worth, Rufus delivers his honest assessment.

"I think it's commendable that you want to commit to your vows with Louis. But think about what this will do to Chuck if he ever finds out. Think about the child. Take it from somebody who knows. You're playing with fire. And Chuck will find out."

Blair sits up straight, uncrosses her legs and twirls a lock of fringe around her finger. She feigns her finest rich girl smile, two rows of perfect teeth, pearly and white. She plucks up the sheet that Rufus had long ago abandoned and folds it neatly, slipping it into her scalloped Dior leather clutch.

"Well, Mister Humphrey." She addresses him formally, a note of sarcasm obvious in her voice. "While this has been a rather remarkable conversation, I'm afraid I have a prior engagement I must be attending."

He frowns. He had hoped he'd made his point.

Pulling on her glove, Blair continues.

"Now, I do hope I can trust you to be discrete with this information. Nobody else knows - just you and your son. And if you think what happened to your daughter was harsh … Well, you don't really know me at all."

Rufus said nothing. What could he say? Had she really just threatened him?

Blair pulled the loft door open and called over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold into the hall outside.

"Have a nice day."


	3. Intoxicate thyself, to make love

**Thank you for the feedback and comments. Really appreciate them. It's great to have your support!**

**So, there's some smut in this chapter. Nothing heavy, may seem OOC for Chuck, but, circumstances.**

**Enjoy :)  
**

**I don't own the characters.**

* * *

Serena comes through for him and he finds himself tucked away, behind a mass of grotesquely potted plants and finicky marble cavalcades, deeply etched like the opulent arches of Pont Alexandre III, this side of the Eiffel Tower.

The art nouveau lamps flicker, a pretty flame that sets the water ablaze with vibrant reds and sanguine shades of bittersweet. _La Grande Bouffe, _Chuck scoffs. It must have been Grimaldi's choice. Blair has far more sophisticated tastes. The cheap wine tastes like piss and his throat craves the deliciously thick swallow of fine single malt.

Like a voyeur, he watches, restless. He watches her chest rise and fall, her lips as they part, though he cannot lip synch. Not even immersion, the ritual of her old fashioned motion pictures, can save him now. And when she leans forward and presses her lips against his, when she kisses another man, it eats him up and leaves him crying.

He'll love her baby, if she'll let him. He wonders if that's being selfish. A child with a biological father, part of Blair, can he shine like a wonder in the eyes of this child? Even Chuck Bass knows that playtime is an essential part of any daily routine.

When Louis splays his hand out over the surface of her still-flat abdomen, Chuck's fingers twitch. He has practiced the art of caressing every place, every part of her, enticing spontaneous delight like it's his sacred responsibility.

And then it hits him, and it steals his breath. Blair is going to be a mother. And he is not the man who has fathered her child. And it hurts, but he doesn't know why. His own father had been absent at the best of times, unable to distribute himself, to give that part of himself to his very own son. There were always others, other women, other really important business executives with a hankering for expensive cigars and three day old stubble.

The words are still hard to dislodge.

_This is my son, Charles. He's a disgrace to the Bass name._

Chuck blinks. He has been pampered, indulged, chauffeured, for as long as memory serves. It's what his father taught him to do, how to take care of himself. Maybe he should be grateful. He'd probably make a lousy father. Faulty genetics, cursed talent handed out by mistake. Everything he has, he has because he has helped himself. Come to think of it, everything he has lost, he's lost for the very same reason.

He's caught up in the depths of his imagination as he watches Blair interact with this second rate infiltrator. His lips curl into a smile as he imagines. Like a crescendo, the illusion builds, slowly.

"_Daddy," the young boy calls, running to his father's arms. _

_Chuck smiles and lifts the child up, raises him to the same level, equals – as he holds young Henry's gaze with a smirk._

"_Look how smart you are. You look just like Daddy."_

The bubble bursts, a pin passes through the synthetic hallucination, pierces an evening of sweet dreams and there's a waitress dressed in a skimpy three piece costume that makes her look more German than Parisian. Lashings of lace and brocade embellish her uniform and Chuck licks his lips. She's blonde, but that's okay. Anybody can pass for Blair as long as he keeps his eyes closed. And everybody who's anybody in New York City knows the name Chuck Bass. She shakes his shoulder and he shrugs her off, but not before he catches her eye.

Gossip Girl sends the first blast not long after they leave. Blair swipes away the fat tears that sting her eyes and resolves to have it out with him as soon as she can get away from Louis. How dare he humiliate her like that? How had he evaded her? He must have been close enough to witness exchange with the Prince.

She crushes the meticulously pleated napkin in the palm of her hand and brushes away the hand that asks after her welfare. She cannot bear to hear him remind her of the harm that stress might bring to her ex boyfriends child.

She offers an excuse, the first thing that she plucks off the top of her head – something about Serena and her troubles with the opposite sex. She watches as Louis furrows his brow and offers to escort her, but Blair declines the offer and hot steps it across town. She knows where Chuck is, a creature of habit, it's a fairly safe bet that he's crawled back into his bed with the flavor of the month, or the week, as is the case.

She swallows the bile that coats her throat, gagging as she swallows and it threatens to progress. It burns, but the action is familiar, like she has done it a thousand times before. And she has.

The elevator announces her arrival at Chuck's door, but he does not hear it, he's too busy trying to make himself feel better, trying to erase the pain, the grief and sadness that has swallowed him whole. The sight is enough to leave tear tracks on Blair's cheek. A lone bead follows the length of the apple of her cheek and pools at the tip of her nose. She swallows, and it's audible, her throat dry and hoarse, and she thinks that at least, he has the decency to look ashamed as her presence becomes a reality and sinks into his bones.

"Blair," he croaks. He's broken, so broken. But she stands tall and sobers quickly. If only he could do the same. She removes her coat, unbuttons each fastening slowly and deliberately, just to prolong his suffering.

"Blair, what are you doing here?"

His words are garbled, but he manages OK. Given his years of substance abuse, it's little wonder. He has had to craft his own method of coherent communication.

His dress shirt is torn, buttons scattered across the floor. His suit trousers are still intact and secured, the zipper resting proudly against his obvious arousal.

"She wasn't you. I couldn't. I couldn't."

Blair nods. She herself cannot form the words to express her relief, her humiliation, or her frustration. And she wants to; she wants to be able to chastise him, to lash out for the distorted misery of their twisted yesterdays. If only she had brass knuckles. But Louis' voice rattles around in her head and that's just extra guilt that she can't condone.

She grips his arm, but he is dead weight in the palm of her hand.

"Chuck, I need you to help me. Can you make it to bed? Come on, Chuck. I can't haul your ass anymore."

There is scotch. Carafe's that are pitifully drained, scotch that has been consumed, and bottles still capped. His clothes are soiled and the warm, rich, smoky stench assaults her senses. Her nostrils flair and her stomach flips. So she slaps him.

Chuck pulls himself up, stumbles and trips his way from the couch to his disheveled bed. He's mildly disgruntled, and heaves his bulky frame onto the strewn bed sheets. He watches Blair remove his shoes. He watches Blair fiddle with the clasp of his pants and blinks before he realizes that she has stripped him in less time than it took him to figure it out.

"Blair? Blair."

Blair sighs. She nudges his body until he's on his side, strokes his arm once and settles in behind him like she has done on so many occasions previously. He's too far gone to experience the burgeoning evidence of their love affair pressed into the smooth skin at the small of his back, and she doesn't really care right now.

"Sorry, Blair, I'm sorry. I love you, Blair. I'm sorry. I'm Chuck Bass, not Chuck Bass without you."

She tells herself that she's just going to rest her eyes, just long enough to keep an eye on Chuck.

* * *

The misty haze of brilliant neon luminance glimmers ruby red through the shades that cover the windows in Chuck's suit. A broad hand is splayed across her abdomen, his weight oddly comforting against her back. Her dress has been removed and folded over the back of the chair. Blair sighs and sinks back into the warmth of Chuck's body. He has devastated her at times, but she's never felt a sense of safety anywhere else than the fold of his embrace.

It's not until she closes her eyes that the tips of his thick fingers skim the waistband of her La Perla's.

"Chuck, no." She swats at his hand and he presses his nose into her hair.

"It's OK. Trust me, please."

Blair does not argue, nor does she object. She needs this.

His erection is insistent, but he's not in any hurry. He nestles his knee between her thighs and pulls her back against him. Their hands are clasped over her hip, fingers laced together. His thumb strokes her knuckles and for the moment, she can forget about the fact that somebody else has been with Chuck in this very same bed.

His arm slips beneath her neck and his free hand cradles her head. He leans forward and captures her mouth, sucking her bottom lip between his own. He's always the last to pull away, always looking for a way to prolong his exposure to her.

Deft fingers rim the line of her leg, slip beneath the fabric and push it aside. He's hot and hard against the soft petal folds that envelop him. He gasps. He only ever does that with her.

"Chuck, please," she begs because she's needy, because she has needs that only Chuck Bass can fill in their entirety.

His lips caress the shell of her ear and he whispers – "I push forward, you push back, slowly. We've got all the time in the world, and I want to feel every single inch of me inside you, Blair."

He knows that she's ready; he knows that she's moist and he's thankful for the hormones because he does not want to hurt her. They've done this before, but this time it's different. She was not pregnant then.

He swallows the lump in his throat, because this could have been his baby, it should be.

He strokes her cheek, presses a kiss to the arch of her shoulder and sheathes himself inside her heat. He teases her leg back, hooks it around his thigh and cups the gentle swell of her belly. It's obvious now, and he's going to milk it, Louis be damned.

The soft pads of fingers graze her arm, her hip, her thigh. She closes her eyes against the sensation of perfection. It was always meant to be like this. She knows that he does not know that he has fathered her child, but Blair knows that this is her family.

They do not talk. This moment is heaven sent.

His hips move against hers, skin on skin warming them both, slick with the ease of such intimacy shared between them. A fine sheen of perspiration forms on his brow, his fingers unfurl and curl around hers time and again. She is delicate in his arms; he carries her weight with little effort. She contracts and he resists, wanting only to bring her pleasure.

She arches her back, strains against the dips and plains of his body. When he hears the most exquisite noise ripped from the base of her throat, he smiles against her neck and pushes himself harder, faster, convulsing, spilling himself.

He finds his voice, willing his heart to slow lest he leave her before his time. He clutches her to his chest, like his possession, despite the fact that he has told himself repeatedly that she is not.

Right now, in his mind, he owns her.

Chuck pulls the hair from her face and tucks it back behind her ear, kissing her temple and nuzzling her forehead. He is not going to move, he is not going anywhere, but he is the first to break the self imposed silence.

"I love you."

"I know," she offers, because she's too busy trying to make sure her voice does not sound as fractured as the words that left her mouth do. "I love you too."


	4. Mapping out his territory

**Here is chapter four. Please enjoy, and review if you can. **

**Chuck is so close to discovering the truth. And then the fireworks will begin.**

**I don't own the characters, I just share.**

* * *

The sun is barely a shadow cast upon the wall from the reflection of the frosty glass partition that shrouds his bedroom with glossy strands of luminous fibers when he wakes. She is on her belly, her hands folded neatly beneath her chin as she breathes, her back, rising and falling as Blair inhales and exhales. She is Venus herself, the Goddess of Love, and he is severely distracted by the acknowledgement of her power, tough he keeps that tidbit to himself, at least for now, locked deep in the vast reaches of his heartland.

His hand skims the smooth skin of her back, silky to his touch, his body aches as he lowers the sheet to reveal more of the creamy flesh he takes pleasure in. The pads of his fingers trace the line and curve of her spine and she trembles beneath his touch, unconsciously, but perhaps, consciously aware of his existence beside her as she slumbers.

His lips follow the same path his fingers had charted, and he thinks that men can read these maps far better than women because only a man can understand the concept that the vermiculate patterns on her back need no cartographer, they are labeled with his name.

He shifts the hair from the nape of her neck, his mark is still there, blossoming purple and fierce strains of red like the blood that flows through her veins. His lips fit the shape perfectly as he sucks a little harder, then soothes the site with his tongue. She stirs and he pulls away with a playful smirk. He is right there, within sight now, for the rest of the world to gaze upon his proclamation that he has claimed her.

"Chuck?"

She yawns, stretches out the kinks in her tired body and rubs her eyes free of sleep before she clutches the sheet firmly around her body and pushes herself into a sitting position. Blair takes a deep breath and reminds herself to remain calm, he can sense her hesitation and a show of weakness will give him the upper hand.

"Good morning, beauty. What do you think about breakfast in bed? Waffles with syrup and whipped cream. Or we can forego the waffles and I can just lick the syrup from your body."

The sheet rustles between them and he shifts to support her, arms tucked up under hers, drawing her into his embrace, his nose buried in her hair as he inhales the aroma of something floral, something feminine.

"Actually, Chuck, I have an appointment that I can't really miss today. It's important."

_Oh. _He has to remind himself that she is no longer his, that she can't spend her days in his bed like they did, once upon a time. If he can't have her in his bed, the least he can do is have her by his side again. "How about I come with you then? Let me shower and change. I won't be long, I promise."

"Chuck …" He cuts her off with his lips, soft against hers, his tongue tracing the line of her lips, plump and full, and sweet tasting.

"Wait here, get dressed, and take your time. Arthur will take us back to the penthouse."

Blair remains silent as she watches him pluck through his outfits, coordinating ties and socks with tailored vests and expensive silk. He does not bother with his robe, it's nothing she has not seen before.

Blair waits until she can hear the shower running, she pulls on her panties and struggles into her dress. Her brassiere is stuffed into her purse as she moves about the room, conscious of the time restraints and the fact that she has little to no time to high-tail it out of there and find herself some sort of reasonable transport. She cringes as the elevator dings and she steps forward, her fingers continue to press frantically at the ground floor button until the doors close and she feels her belly lurch with descent.

Normally, she would not allow herself to be caught in such a predicament, bare feet, her toes cold against the tiled floor as she moves through the foyer. Her hair is disheveled, she does not even want to think about the state of her makeup. She notices the limousine on the corner and smiles. He owes her this one.

Blair knocks on the glass of the passenger window, waiting, looking, scowling until Arthur lowers the window.

"Arthur, I need you to take me home. Please, right now I suppose, I am willing to beg, cheat, lie or double your Christmas bonus."

The thin glass moves quickly back into place, and Blair remains frozen on the sidewalk, pouting while Chuck's chauffeur chuckles and shakes his head. He affords himself a moment of sanity, he's not on the clock and he knows that when Mr. Bass finds out that he willingly harbored Miss. Waldorf, shucks, it will be worth the chaste, clipped tone as his employer chastises him.

Blair looks up as from her wiggling toes as Arthur's voice soothes her fears and he opens the door for her with a wide smile. She narrows her eyes, giving him the once over, and then nods curtly, thanking him as she eases her body onto the soft leather seat that has guarded her secrets since she was sixteen, secrets hidden in the most unlikely of places.

"We're on our way to Fifth Avenue, Miss Waldorf."

"Thank you." Blair murmurs as she sinks down into the seat, the word lingers on her lips, refusing to leave, even as she exhales all of the air from her lungs. Her lids close, her lashes flutter against the dark lines that rim her eyes. She has to slow down, being so wound up is not going to help. She needs a bath filled with lavender so that she can descend into a quiet calm, a serene escape from the turmoil of her mind.

* * *

When Arthur returns, Chuck is waiting, adjusting and readjusting the clasp of his Rolex, snapping the catch, a mechanism of despair, persistent repetition that makes the process a part of his own personality.

"You took her home."

He refuses to look up, to set his gaze upon the one man he thought had his back. He fumes silently, his tongue stiffens, his tone bitter.

"Yes Sir."

Chuck cocks his head and eyes Arthur carefully, methodically, with the air of precision, and the ease of practice. His nostrils flare, but he knows that she has the potential to overwhelm him to the degree that bothers him.

"Good."

In the end, there is no doubt in his mind that Arthur respects him, and the feeling, he cannot deny, is undoubtedly mutual.

"Blair left for a reason. She's trying to hide something, Blair … I know she is."

An appointment, something personal, and she does not wish him to bear witness. He checks his watch, it's a quarter to the hour, and he knows that Blair won't be waiting around for the masses to queue.

"Arthur, bring the limo around. We're going out today."

"Yes, Mister Bass."

Chuck cups his chin in the palm of his hand, he scrubs his face and pushes back from the bar, he sets his shoulders straight, his fingers pinching the hem of his suit jacket with both hands as he flicks his fringe back from his face, runs his tongue along the outside of his teeth and follows his driver out to the curb.

Blair would call him a psychopath, a pathetic excuse for a man who can't mind his own business. Chuck smirks to himself, her discontent becomes his mirth, and he tells himself that at least, it's better than spending the rest of the day pissing his life away.

Chuck catches a glimpse of her as she leaves the building, she's long range, too far away for him to decipher fine detail, but he knows that she looks tired, and actually has the decency to blame himself for her lack of rest. He knows that she wears thick rimmed glasses to hide the darkness beneath her eyes, he knows that although he's glad that she has taken up wearing flats, they're not signature Waldorf and that in itself makes a statement to the world that something is just not right.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he wonders what the odds of a Gossip Girl blast at this very moment are. The moment the pad of his thumb strikes the button and illuminates the screen he groans.

_**Word is that our Queen Bee was seen fleeing the Empire Hotel early this morning. Was she warming Chucks bed or …**_

He deletes the message before it sends him into a tailspin. He doesn't care what the cretins say about him, but he won't accept an ill word against his Blair. This is solely his reputation and justifiably so. She does not deserve the indignation of being caught in the crossfire.

His fingers curl into a fist and he smacks it down hard onto his thigh. The fabric of his suit trousers crinkles beneath the force of his wrath, but Chuck does not notice.

"Follow her car at a distance, Arthur."

Chuck's limousine is not particularly inconspicuous, but it gets the job done, and comfortably. Having had her first, right here, his chest expands and his desire becomes obvious. If there's one regret in his life, it's that he did not act sooner, that he didn't shower her with love and affection, even back then.

It was a game, he was dealing out the cards, playing the hand that he'd held close to his chest. By the time he'd realized the rules had changed, it was too late, he'd already lost.

"Arthur, stop the car."

Chuck knew that they could not possibly follow Blair's town car any further. If memory served him right, he knew exactly where they were headed and frankly, it made him want to hurl into the gutter. He pushed the door back on it's hinges and stood on the corner of the block with his heart in his throat.

"What are you doing, Blair? Why would you be coming to a clinic like this on the other side of town?" He punches speed dial on his phone and lifts the receiver to his ear. There's a twitch in his brow and his knee bounces as he rocks back onto the balls of his feet.

"Mike, Chuck Bass. I've got a job for you. I need you to get your hands on Blair Waldorf's medical files. I don't care what it costs or who you have to fire in the process. I want to know everything, every test, every scraped knee, every last little vaccination that went into her pert little derriere. Do you understand?"

"I'm going to find out, Blair. I know you're not telling me the truth, but I will find out."

Chuck has been here before, and he knows that girls like Blair don't come here unless they're trying to hide something. His brow furrows when Blair's car does a loop of the parking lot, but she does not open the door. He hopes she has had second thoughts, because if she lets him, he'll do whatever it takes to make her happy.

He ducks his head as the heavily tinted automobile rolls slowly past his position at the rear of a beat up blue Toyota. He shakes his head and looks at his phone, willing it to ring. He has to know what is going on with her.

Back in the relative privacy of his limo, Chuck pinches the bridge of his nose, it seems like a lifetime trying to get his hands on Blair's private records. She knows just as well as he does, that it pays to bury your evidence as close to you as possible. Or … the thought strikes him up side the head like a belting he once received from his Uncle.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Serena, she had to know what was going on. Whatever Blair was hiding, it was closer than he realized, if he could just reach out and put his finger on it, if he knew what it was that was causing this woman to act so out of character.

"Arthur, we're going to pay my dear sister a visit."


End file.
